


how my poor heart aches

by fannishliss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Steve Rogers, Boys Kissing, Breathplay, Bucky is actually doing pretty well, Explicit Consent, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve is a pushy bottom, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is afraid he might hurt Steve.  Steve's response is really pretty sketchy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how my poor heart aches

**Author's Note:**

> This piece has experimental form and jumps around in time a little bit. The point of view intentionally changes. Please let me know how you like it!

Bucky’s metal hand tightens around Steve’s throat, cutting off Steve’s air.  Steve feels his body tightening, trying to struggle, and black spots begin to dance in front of his eyes.  
  
He won’t give up.  
  
He stares up at Bucky, refusing to blink, refusing to fade.    
  
“I trust you,” he mouths, but no sound comes out. Bucky’s teeth are bared in a grimace and his eyes are full of fear.  
  
“I trust you” Steve thinks, convulsing, stars and blackness vying to replace Bucky’s face in his vision.    
  
***  
  
“Natasha — are you going to be in the building all night tonight?” Steve asks.  
  
Natasha looks up at Steve, eyes calm and cool.  “Sure, Rogers.”  
  
Steve gives a twitchy smile.  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”  
  
***  
  
“Jarvis,” Steve asks, “can you send private alerts to a particular Avenger?”  
  
“Of course, Captain,” the AI responds.  
  
“I’d like an alert sent to Natasha,” Steve says, “if … anything gets out of hand.”  
  
“Of course, sir.  I will use my discretion.”  
  
“Thanks, Jarvis.”  
  
“I’m glad to be of assistance to you and Sgt. Barnes, Captain.”  
  
“You are a very perceptive person, Jarvis.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
***  
  
Steve walks into the kitchenette in their suite and Bucky stands from the little table to leave, picking up his plate full of toast and mug of tea.  
  
“Please don’t go,” Steve says, not making eye contact.    
  
Bucky freezes mid-motion.    
  
“At least tell me why,” Steve asks, very softly.    
  
“I can’t,” Bucky says.    
  
“You can tell me anything,” Steve says.    
  
“I can’t hurt you,” Bucky whispers, and runs.  
  
Steve watches him go.  
   
***  
  
“It’s not a big deal, Bucky,” Steve says.  
  
Bucky has wedged himself deeply into a corner of their big leather couch.  He is watching old Bugs Bunny cartoons on their giant television.    
  
“I’m okay,” Steve says. “I trust you.”  
  
“You shouldn’t trust me,” Bucky argues through clenched teeth, eyes locked on the tv.    
  
“It was only bruises, Bucky, and they got there because I wanted it.  I wanted you, I’ll always want you.”  
  
“Not if I hurt you, Steve,” Bucky whispers.  
  
Steve frowns, but he doesn’t know how to make this better.  
  
***  
  
“Natasha, I need a favor,” Steve says.  
  
“Sure,” Natasha says.  She’s on the couch in the common area, reading Turgenev.    
  
“Please don’t judge,” Steve says, and he can feel his face turning as red as it’s ever been.  
  
Natasha just gives him her flattest, most unimpressed look.  
  
“Okay.” Steve takes a big breath, and lets it out. “Bucky’s afraid he’s going to hurt me.  During sex.  So I want. I think.  He should. Um. Choke me.  So he can see that he knows how not to take it too far.”  
  
Natasha’s eyes widen, just a quiver, then return to normal.  
  
“Breathplay, huh? You Brooklyn boys like it a little edgy?”  
  
Steve concentrates on the couch pillow he’s currently twisting, so as not to shred it to pieces.  “I just think, if we do something — a little dangerous — it might help him.”  
  
“Or it might freak him out and set him back further than you already are,” Natasha suggests.    
  
“He left fingerprints on my hips,” Steve mumbles. “That’s all. He’s making a mountain out of a molehill.”  
  
“I don’t know, Steve,” Natasha says.  “Have you asked his counsellor about this?”  
  
Steve looks away.  “No.”  
  
“Don’t ask him to do something he’s not ready to do.  You can’t rush him.”  Natasha isn’t a tentative person, but she is capable of being gentle.  
  
“I know that,” Steve says sadly.  “It’s just that everything was going so well. And now we’re back to square one.”  
  
“He’s done remarkably well, Steve, you know that.  You have to expect a few setbacks.  He probably won’t ever be entirely free of what they did to him.”  
  
Steve knows that Natasha is speaking from personal experience.    
  
“I know, it’s just, I love him so much.  I trust him with my life.  I don’t care if he accidentally bruises me, or whatever.  I heal up in no time.”  
  
“It matters to him, Steve.”  
  
“I know.  But.  Well.  Thanks for being there anyway.”  
  
“Of course,” Natasha says.    
  
“If we ever, um, get to that point, maybe I’ll ask you to be our backup, in case things get out of hand?”  
  
“Sure,” Natasha says.  “I’ll take him down real gentle.”  
  
Steve laughs softly.  “I can almost picture that.”  
  
“Don’t picture it too hard,” Natasha warns, with a hint of a grin.  
  
“Thanks,” Steve says.    
  
***  
  
Bucky stares.  “You’re out of your mind.”  
  
“I’m not,” Steve insists.    
  
“I could actually kill you.”  
  
“I doubt it,” Steve says, more casually than he honestly feels.  
  
“No way.  No way in hell.”  
  
Steve’s feet are in Bucky’s lap, and he tries to keep Bucky from bolting.  They’d gotten back to the point at least where Bucky would sit on the couch with him while they read or something played on the television.  Steve had been plotting how to get a little contact, inching his toes closer and closer to Bucky’s thigh, but when Bucky had innocently dropped his warm right hand down onto Steve’s ankle, Steve had lost it and blurted out his crazy idea.  
  
“But we could get Jarvis to watch,” Steve says.  “For safety purposes.”  
  
“What’s Jarvis going to do if I lose control?”  
  
“Call Natasha, and she’ll take you down.”  
  
“Too risky.”  
  
Steve hears the moment of hesitation in Bucky’s voice, the moment when Bucky thinks it might be okay to try something a little dangerous.    
  
“Bucky, I’m a super soldier. What could you possible do to me that hasn’t already been done?”  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you!” Bucky shouts.  
  
“You’re hurting me right now,” Steve says, very calmly. “I just want to be with you.  I want your hands on me.  I want you inside me.  I want you to hold me down and have your way with me and make me feel it. I’m so damn glad you’re alive, but you not touching me, not making love to me, it’s killing me, Bucky.  We can go as slow as you want.  Just, give me something.”  
  
“‘Something’ isn’t choking you out.”  
  
“Okay — but my point is, I trust you that far, that much.  I know you won’t hurt me, Bucky.  You just won’t.”  
  
Bucky is wavering.  He hasn’t run from the room; he hasn’t even stood up.  The thumb and fingers of his right hand are obsessively circling the soft, satiny skin of Steve’s ankle.  It’s driving Steve crazy, and clearly Bucky is just as starved for the touch of his lover’s skin as Steve is.  
  
“At least,” Steve begs.  He feels pretty low, but he’s not above begging.  “At least kiss me, Bucky.  Or, hold me, can’t ya? I’m dying for you.”  
  
Steve lets all the longing he feels for Bucky fill his gaze.  If it’s cheating to use his big blue eyes on the man he’s loved his whole life, he’s happy to be a no-good dirty rotten cheater.  He feels like his gaze is hungry enough to swallow Bucky whole.  
  
Bucky looks up at last and his beautiful blue eyes lock with Steve’s.  “Come here, punk,” he says and Steve nearly tears himself in two trying to move both cautiously and as fast as lightning into Bucky’s arms.    
  
“Kiss me,” Steve begs, and Bucky finally relents.  Steve plasters himself to Bucky’s chest, making himself small as he can — like it used to be, the way it was between them for so long — Steve craning his neck up for Bucky’s intoxicating kisses, Bucky doling them out like some debauched angel from heaven.  Bucky’s kisses are so sweet, and slow, and gentle, they make Steve feel like he’s on fire, like he’s about to combust, or boil over, or like he’s some kind of primitive landscape about to be torn apart by a newborn volcano.  Steve has never been a man of steel, like the comics they used to read, but he knows what it’s like to feel like a molten core threatening to burst forth from inside him.  
  
It’s not exactly the same as the old days.  Bucky had always been a talker — murmuring sweet little nothings — he knew how to melt the dames on the dance floor without ever touching them — he’d been slapped a few times, but mostly he got nothing but adoring looks and a reputation as a ladies’ man that kept him and Steve safe.  Now, Bucky was quiet.  He never made a sound — not a moan, barely a sigh — quieter than he’d ever been even with the thin walls of their old apartment.    
  
Now, Bucky sinks into kissing like he was made for it.  His beautiful, soft lips caress Steve’s like they were designed for pleasure.  His tongue slips into Steve’s mouth so smoothly Steve barely notices until it’s taking him apart, making him want that tongue to explore his body as thoroughly as it’s exploring his mouth.  Steve moans for both of them, so hard for Bucky that he’s shaking with it.    
  
“Oh, oh please, Bucky, please touch me,” Steve moans up into Bucky’s mouth.    
  
Steve’s head is cradled against the left side of Bucky’s chest.  Bucky always sits with the metal arm turned away from Steve.  He doesn’t touch Steve with it unless it can’t be avoided, and even now, Bucky’s jammed his arm behind a pillow that he’s using to cushion Steve’s head while they kiss.  Bucky’s good right hand is soothing Steve with smooth, thorough strokes, making its way down his stomach, getting nearer and nearer where Steve wants it.    
   
Steve is keening, almost whining, into Bucky’s perfect kisses, by the time Bucky’s fingers close around his cock. He’s so wound up that all Bucky does is give him a few, quick pumps and Steve arches his back and goes off all over Bucky’s hand, moaning up into Bucky’s mouth.    
  
Steve has to pull away from Bucky’s mouth to get some air.    
  
“Oh, wow, that was so good,” Steve pants.  “Let me do you,” he says.  
  
The warm and tender look fades out of Bucky’s face. “No,” he says.  
  
“But I want to,” Steve says.  He’s so full of love right now, so warm and sated, he can’t believe Bucky would deny him anything he wanted.  
  
“I don’t want to,” Bucky says, and with one last kiss, he gently disengages Steve from on top of him and walks away.  
  
The pleasure drains out of Steve like Bucky had pulled a plug.  Tossing the couch cushion to the floor, Steve stretches full length flat on the couch and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes.  He feels like a spoiled brat — all want, want, want — but what he wants is for Bucky — isn’t it?  
  
***  
  
Bucky opens up a little.  Touching Steve when they’re near one another, allowing Steve up against him when they’re on the couch — Steve can’t deny it helps.  And then too, are the days when Bucky will kiss him and bring him off, making Steve feel so loved — but still filling him with longing, because he won’t let Steve return the favor.    
  
“Why?” Steve whispers.    
  
Bucky is mostly relaxed against him as Steve combs his fingers through Bucky’s thick hair.  Bucky had always had a sensitive scalp, shivering like a puppy under Steve’s firm, massaging strokes.    
  
“mmm” Bucky moans very quietly, refusing to answer.    
  
Just getting that much out of him — just that soft admission of pleasure — is enough for Steve.  For a while.  
  
***  
  
Steve tries to pamper Bucky.  He takes his unlimited credit card to Macy’s (it seems like a misappropriation of funds, but Stark insists the bills of the Avengers who live in his Tower don’t even register as a drop in the ocean of his wealth) and he buys Bucky the softest, most luxurious things he can find: pajamas and underwear made of thick, rich silk, cashmere sweaters, fine cotton trousers.    
  
Bucky still roams the suite in t shirts and sweatpants, the same gear he wears daily to the gym, where he alternates through sparring partners, always taking a pounding from Steve or Clint or Natasha, but never quite unleashing himself.  
  
***  
  
Steve tries to woo Bucky with chocolate, wine, fillet mignons, truffle oil this and that, plates from New York’s best restaurants.  
  
Bucky lives on bagels for breakfast, deli sandwiches for lunch, and usually Italian for supper.  
  
***  
  
Bucky turns the tables.  Little things begin to turn up around the place: books and movies and records Steve might like.  New art supplies turn up in his studio. Steve finds a packet of clove gum in his coat pocket, the kind he liked best as a kid.    
  
Bucky smells clove on his breath and smiles.  Steve tries to be contented.  
  
***  
  
“How’s it going, Rogers?” Natasha asks one day, after sparring.  
  
“Good,” Steve says.    
  
“Hmm,” Natasha says, seeing it all.  “Give him time.”  
  
Steve frowns, huffing a little through his nose.    
  
“I know you’re not a saint, Steve,” Natasha says.  “But you’re doing real good.  You both are.”  
  
“Thanks,” he says, and means it.    
  
***  
  
Weeks have passed.  Bucky is so much better, smiling, laughing, more at ease than ever before.    
  
Steve is a knot of frustration.  How can Bucky feel so good if he never lets Steve get him off?  
  
Finally Steve has an idea.    
  
“Let me tie you down,” Steve suggests.  “Then you won’t need to be afraid you might hurt me.”  
  
Bucky gets a terrible look on his face, but he doesn’t pull away.   “I don’t… I really don’t like restraints.”  
  
Steve feels like someone kicked him in the stomach. That idea is permanently shelved.  
  
***  
  
Bucky and Steve are on the couch, kissing. The couch is Steve’s absolute favorite place in the world, because there Bucky wedges his metal arm behind a cushion and makes out with Steve one-handed on a regular basis.  
  
Bucky seems to have a chart in his head of all Steve’s reactions.  He knows from the slightest tremble or hitch in Steve’s breath how close Steve is.  He knows when to pull back and just when to take Steve higher.  He’s always been like this — so attuned to Steve’s body that Steve feels like he’s floating, like every pulse of pleasure Bucky sends through his body is inevitable.  There’s nothing for him to do but take it — at least Bucky lets him kiss, and stroke his hair, even though everything else is off the table.     
  
Steve’s mind floats on clouds of bliss, drifting on Bucky’s wicked hand, his sweet lips, his clever tongue.    
     
***  
  
“Oh, Bucky, yes!” Steve said, as Bucky slammed home.  
  
Steve braced himself on hands and knees, pushing back against Bucky’s strength for all he was worth, Bucky’s fingers digging deep into his hips as Steve gave himself up. It felt so good to have Bucky back, to feel like like he could be the home Bucky had needed for so long.    
  
Steve howled as Bucky emptied inside him, pulled flush against Bucky’s groin.  The delicious feeling of Bucky’s prick twitching inside him brought Steve along, and he came all over the sheets.    
  
He collapsed and Bucky eased out, then they rolled into each other’s arms, smiling and sated.    
  
It fell apart when Bucky saw the dark bruises he’d left on Steve’s hips.    
  
Now, at least, Bucky will kiss and hold Steve again, always so gentle and careful.  But Steve can’t help but remember what it was like those first few days, back together after so long, no holds barred against their passion, so wild and consuming.    
  
***  
  
“Can you honestly tell me you don’t want it?” Steve asks.    
  
“Gosh, Stevie,” Bucky says bitterly. “You're not doing so well as a modern guy.  You’re supposed to be understanding about the full spectrum of sexual desire.”  
  
“Where did you even hear that?” Steve demands.  
  
“My counsellor gave me a leaflet,” Bucky states.  
  
“When you first came home,” Steve says, miffed, “ _that_ was the full spectrum.”  
  
Bucky couldn’t help but snort at Steve’s phrase.  Steve pushes on.  
  
“You wanted me then,” Steve urges.  “If things had changed and you didn’t want me like that, maybe I’d feel different.  But you can’t deny you want me.”  
  
Bucky’s half-grin sours to a dark scowl.  “It’s not that I don’t want you,” he admits.  
  
“You won’t let me touch you!” Steve pleads.    
  
“I don’t want to lose control!” Bucky shouts.    
  
Steve lets that sink in.    
  
“I don’t want to lose control, Stevie.  Can’t you understand that?  I’ve hurt so many people. You’re the last person I’d ever want to hurt. Again. I can’t, I can’t do it.”  
  
“Bucky, you’re thinking yourself into a corner,” Steve argues.    
  
Bucky just scowls more.  
  
“If you took a swing at me, what would happen?” Steve says.  
  
“I don’t want to think about it.”  
  
“Do you not remember, on the helicarrier? You were shaking the programming even then, but I was still your mission — you tried your damnedest to kill me — and you couldn’t.  You didn’t.  You saved me, Bucky.”  
  
“I still remember that moment,” Bucky whispers.  “Looking down — recognizing you at last — realizing what I’d almost done — watching you fall — “  
  
“You saved me, Buck,” Steve implores.  “You hurt me, sure — but I got better.  That’s the miracle.  Maybe you put three slugs in me and tried to break my face — but I’m still here, I’m standing.”  
  
“But if —“ Bucky says.  
  
“If what?” Steve counters.  “If you flip your wig and turn into the Winter Soldier and try to kill me?  I’ll take you down.  Jarvis will notify the rest of the folks in the building and they’ll show up and take you down.  It’s not going to happen.”  
  
Bucky frowns.    
  
“Under what circumstances would you allow me to touch you?” Steve asks.   “Cause I really, really want to.”  
  
Bucky sighs.  Steve waits.    
  
“I’ll think about it,” Bucky finally says.    
  
“Okay!”    
  
***  
  
At last Bucky talks to his counsellor.    
  
She tells him that many couples have trouble with intimacy after trauma, and that he should be proud of their make-out sessions on the couch.  
  
He tells her Steve isn’t satisfied, that Steve wants to touch him in return.  
  
She asks if he feels comfortable being touched.  
  
He says no.  
  
She asks if it’s because of the things that were done to him.  
  
Bucky is working on processing the things that were done to him; it’s hard to accept the idea that he didn’t somehow fail, that he didn’t deserve the terrible things Hydra did to him; that if only somehow he’d been stronger he might have avoided becoming the Winter Soldier.  He’s working through all that.  This is different.  
  
“I feel,” he says, practicing the way she wants him to talk, “that if I lose control during sex, I might hurt Steve.”  
  
“Do you think that is a rational fear?” she asks.  
  
“I left bruises on him,” Bucky confesses.    
  
“How did that make you feel?” she asks.  
  
“Horrified. Ashamed.  It made me remember when I tried to beat him to death.”  
  
“Let’s unpack that a little,” she says. “You were ordered to kill Steve.  Why didn’t you?”  
  
“I couldn’t.  I remembered him somehow.”  
  
“What happened when you remembered?” she prompts.  
  
“I held back.  I missed shots when I could easily have killed him.  I stopped beating him when I could have killed him. I dove down after him and saved him from drowning.”  
  
“Why?” she prompts again.  
  
“Because —“ Bucky takes a deep breath. “Because despite everything, I knew him.  I remembered him. I. I recognized the feeling.”  
  
“What feeling?”  
  
“When I saw him, there was a feeling the Winter Soldier didn’t know.  The Asset wasn’t allowed to have feelings, but I did.  When I recognized him, I felt something very strong.” Bucky looked up at the counsellor.  He was proud that he’d had feelings even though the Asset wasn’t supposed to.  “I love him.  I love him so much.”  
  
“So,” she says. “Let’s restate. You were ordered to hurt him, but you didn’t, because you love him?”  
  
“Yes,” he says.  
  
“Try to restate that for yourself,” she requests.    
  
“I was ordered to kill Steve, but I didn’t, because I love him.”  
  
“So, does that shed any light on your current problem?” she asks.  “Can you restate the problem?”  
  
Bucky could pretty well see where she was going.  This therapy thing, it was like the counsellor’s job was to build logic problems he couldn’t squirm out of.  
  
“Steve wants to have sex like we used to, but I don’t want to, because I’m afraid I’ll lose control and hurt him.”  
  
“Why do you think you might hurt him?”  
  
“Because I left bruises.”  
  
“Think about this,” she instructs.  “Bruises on Steve. Are you sure bruises mean you lost control and hurt him?”  
  
Bucky wants to say yes, but he finds that he can’t.  
  
“I bruised him,” he says slowly, “but I didn’t really hurt him.”  
  
“What  does Steve say — does he say you hurt him?”  
  
“Steve’s an idiot.  He’s always getting hurt, he doesn’t care!” Bucky complains.    
  
“Who do you think should decide if Steve is hurt?”  
  
“Steve never thinks he’s hurt,” Bucky says.  
  
“Do you think he should get a medical opinion — about the bruises?”  
  
Bucky feels the trap snap closed.  “No.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because Steve’s a goddamned super soldier.  A few bruises ain’t nothing.”   Bucky has known this all along, but the counsellor leads him to make the convincing argument for himself.  
  
“Do you still feel worried that you might hurt Steve?” she asks.  
  
“A little,” Bucky says.  
  
“What does the evidence tell you?”  
  
“I could hurt him — but I won’t.  Not really.”  
  
“How do you feel about that?”  
  
“Good.  I feel a lot better actually. Thank you.”  
  
“Thank yourself, Bucky.  You’ve done very well today.”  
  
The counsellor gives him homework, as always.  He’s supposed to take note every time he feels concern for Steve’s wellbeing, whether the threat comes from Bucky, from Steve, or from some other direction.  Bucky’s known that wise-ass punk his whole life, and he thinks he already knows what the list will look like.    
  
***  
  
Steve is so gorgeous like this, lips swollen from Bucky’s kisses, eyes soft and dark with the haze of arousal, hair sticking every which way. He is perfectly pliant in Bucky’s arms, moaning at Bucky’s every touch.  It makes Bucky feel so good, to give Steve so much pleasure, to treat him how he deserves to be treated.    
  
“Stevie,” he whispers.    
  
“mmm?” Steve tries to answer.  
  
“You wanna take this to the bedroom?”  
  
Steve is so far gone that it actually takes him a second to understand.  “Uh…  yeah, Bucky, I really do!” he says.    
  
Bucky eases them apart so that they can stand.  He takes Steve’s hand and leads him into the bedroom.    
  
“I’m gonna lay down and grip the headboard,” Bucky explains. “Then you can do what you want.”  
  
Steve looks so amazed, happy and serious all at once.  “Okay.  Okay.  So um, if I do anything you don’t like, you say ‘red,’ or if you’re unsure you say ‘yellow,’ and if it’s all good you say ‘green.’”  
  
“That makes sense,” Bucky smiles, and he reaches for the headboard.    
  
“Oh, oh Bucky,” Steve moans.  “You — you don’t even know.  You’re so beautiful. I want you so bad.”  
  
“Here I am,” he says. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”  
  
“I can touch you?” Steve says, still holding back.  
  
“Green!” Bucky says with a smile.  
  
Steve kisses Bucky — that feels safe and comfortable.  Then his hands sooth gently down Bucky’s chest and that feels really really good.  Bucky moans, very softly, and Steve kisses one of his nipples, just licking and sucking it, teasing, and Bucky feels it straight down into his cock.  
  
“Go ahead, Stevie,” Bucky says, “touch me.”  
  
Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s cock and it feels so good, it jumps against Steve’s fingers.  
  
“Can I suck you, please?” Steve says.    
  
“Mmm, yeah, Stevie,” Bucky says, gripping the headboard a little harder.  “Green.”  
  
Steve’s mouth is heaven, so hot. His lips are like sin, his tongue is so clever, stroking all along Bucky’s length, and he doesn’t last long at all.  He shoots down Steve’s throat and Steve groans around him, doesn’t miss a drop.  Everything is clear and perfect and Bucky floats back down to earth.    
  
“Need a hand?” Bucky asks.    
  
“Nope,” Steve grins, and licks his own hand clean.  
  
***  
  
Things are so much better that Bucky is surprised Steve still has this crazy idea about choking.  
  
They’ve done it all the ways they used to like, and some they hadn’t even thought of back then.  Bucky has gotten over the quickly-fading bruises he sometimes sees.  But now Steve is stubborn. Once he’s got an idea in his head, he won’t let it go.  Bucky doesn’t like it, but maybe Steve is right.  Maybe the very fact he feels so cautious is proof that he won’t hurt Steve.  He hasn’t so far.  
  
***  
  
Steve alerts Natasha, and Jarvis, and the mood is a little tense, but Bucky steers them to the couch and they make out for a long time, till Steve can barely see straight; he’s been hard for so long that Bucky is really beginning to feel sorry for him, just a little.  His ass is loose and slick around Bucky’s fingers — Bucky like to tease — Steve starts to beg and then to whine, and Bucky, honestly, loves it.  
  
They’ve moved to the bedroom and Steve is on his back now, folded almost in half.  Bucky is sunk deep inside him, moving langorously, savoring every quiver of Steve’s overstimulated body. This is how it’s supposed to be.    
  
“Do it,” Steve begs.    
  
Bucky feels a little pang of fear, but he trusts himself, and Steve, and even Jarvis and Natasha. It’ll be okay.  Steve wants this.    
  
Bucky’s metal hand tightens around Steve’s throat, cutting off Steve’s air.  Bucky feels Steve’s body tightening, trying to struggle, and it feels good.  Not better, but good.    
  
Steve won’t give up. He stares up at Bucky, refusing to blink, refusing to fade.    
  
“I trust you,” Steve mouths, but no sound comes out.  
  
Bucky doesn’t like it.  Steve’s body shudders, but Bucky can’t see himself in Steve’s eyes.  He lets go.  
  
Steve breathes in, a huge shuddering breath, just as Bucky wraps his hand around Steve’s cock and begins to jerk him, a little fierce, and pound him a good deal harder, right where it counts.    
  
Steve comes, thrashing, rippling around Bucky’s cock, striping himself with jizz, head thrown back, eyes full of bliss.  Already his neck is bruising, but that’s okay.  
  
Confusion, fear, the pains they’ve been dealt — it all falls away — nothing is left between them but love, pure and strong as eternity, something they know they can trust.    
     
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This story is in no way meant to suggest that breathplay is safe or a good idea. Steve gets desperate and Bucky has the clearer head.
> 
> Please read this article:  
> http://uwire.com/2010/11/15/a-peek-behind-the-curtain-the-basics-of-bdsm-and-breath-play/
> 
> Play consensual and play safe!


End file.
